


Fun House

by White Queen Writes (fhartz91)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Aziraphale and Crowley versus teenagers, Established Relationship, Fluff, Halloween, Haunted Houses, Humor, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Post-Canon, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-09 09:44:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20992760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/White%20Queen%20Writes
Summary: It’s Halloween, and Crowley decides he wants to take his husband out to celebrate au naturale.





	Fun House

_“We shouldn't be doing this!”_ Aziraphale hisses, but mostly to cover up for the fact that he’s giggling – proof that he’s having a better time than he’s letting on.

“That's what makes _doing this_ such fun!” Crowley pulls Aziraphale along, speeding past the ticket taker, up the stairs, over the tension barrier, and through the ‘_employees only’_ entrance, plunging them into the pitch-black belly of the hotel-turned haunted mansion.

Aziraphale glances over his shoulder at the people who don’t seem to notice them cut the line and fly by, even with ten-foot tall wings protruding from their backs, and knows his husband has something to do with it. “_Crowley_! We’re going to get caught! Besides, cutting in line is just plain rude.”

“_Aziraphale_! It's _Halloween_! No one's looked at us twice all night, and they’re not gonna! Besides, what do I care about being rude? Remember those little shits that tried to egg my car?”

“After you nearly ran them over!”

“I consider that justice.”

“How? _You_ started it!”

“Yes but they were going to egg someone else now weren’t they? _Premeditated_! Otherwise why would they be carrying eggs around with them to begin with? If you ask me, I did a good deed there!”

“You duct taped them to a tree!”

“Only some of them! Their friends were there to cut them free. If they work diligently, they should be out before midnight.”

Crowley snickers, completely unrepentant, and as much as he disagrees with his husband’s methods, all Aziraphale can do is roll his eyes. His demon _does_ have a point. Besides, what Crowley did falls along the lines of a prank. The trick portion of _trick or treat_. He didn’t actually hurt anyone.

Those kids probably won’t see it that way but whatever.

“What are we doing here anyway?” Aziraphale asks, following close behind as Crowley leads him up a winding staircase covered in torn sheets soaked to dripping in fake blood. “We’re running past all the performers. Are we not here to scare or be scared?”

“Nope. We’re here to make out.”

“Don’t you think we're a little _old_ to be messing about like teenagers?”

“Aziraphale, we never even got to _be_ teenagers!”

“And thank Heaven for _that_!”

“Look, you’ve been around humans as long as I have. Think of all the things we’ve missed out on by not being born mortal!”

“Like puberty and acne and high school and homework. Huge loss there.”

Crowley exits the staircase at the second to the last landing and pushes Aziraphale up against the cleanest of the goop-spattered walls. He’d been searching for this floor specifically – the one with the huge picture window he’d seen from the outside. It overlooked the main thoroughfare, its lights and decorations, with a hawk eye’s view of children in costume begging for candy while their older siblings roll their eyes, swiping sweets from their pillowcases when they’re not looking (which Crowley can’t even claim to have a hand in – teenagers are just _mean_).

“Angel, I’ve managed to find us the most horrifically romantic spot in all of London to spread our wings and be alone,” Crowley says, brushing his nose against Aziraphale’s cheek, nudging his head to the side so he can reach his neck past his collar and bowtie. “Don’t kill the mood.”

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale whispers, startling when he hears footsteps race by, the whirring of a chainsaw giving chase a little too close for comfort. “I’m, possibly, a bit nervous.”

“Don’t be nervous,” Crowley murmurs, licking circles down Aziraphale’s neck with the tip of his tongue. “It’s just you and me here.”

“And the lovely cast of All-Season Productions.”

“Relax, will ya?”

“I’m trying to, but I …”

Crowley’s mouth on his quiets him down, the press of his demon’s body quelling his trembling … or making it worse. At this point, Aziraphale can’t tell. The whole building seems to be shivering with actors laughing and screaming kids. But that bleeds away when Crowley takes hold of his wrists and pins them at his sides, weaving their fingers together in a gesture that’s more endearment than possessive.

But still possessive – enough to make Aziraphale’s toes curl.

His body relaxes underneath Crowley’s weight and his heat – everything from Aziraphale’s head to his wings to his legs and his feet melting against the wall. The buzz of the chainsaw doesn’t bother him anymore, neither do the bloodcurdling screams. He’s only vaguely aware of footsteps as they race up and down the staircase or barrel down the hall.

The ones that come to a screeching halt a few feet beside them, and the groan that follows soon after? _That’s_ harder to ignore.

_“Eww!”_

_“What!?”_

_“What is it, Portia!?”_

_“A zombie?”_

_“A skeleton?”_

_“A decapitated body being feasted upon by a rabid werewolf!?”_

_“No. It’s old people making out!”_

_“Gross!”_

_“Are you serious?”_

_“See for yourself!”_

_“Yeah, no. That’s not okay!”_

_“How can they allow that in here? Don’t they know they’re going to scar us for life!?”_

_“Let’s get outta here! Find that guy with the chainsaw and forget all about this!”_

_“I don’t think I can! It’s gonna haunt my nightmares!”_

“Crowley!” Aziraphale growls, coming to the conclusion that he’s changed his mind.

He’s entirely okay with his husband duct taping obnoxious children to trees.

Crowley can’t answer his husband, snickering into his shoulder while the air echoes with conversation.

_“I don’t know, Portia. That guy dressed like an angel was kinda hot.”_

_“Emily! He looks like my dad!”_

_“Yeah, and …?”_

_“…”_

_“Okay, you’re not allowed over to my house anymore.”_

“I thought you said the humans wouldn’t see us!” Aziraphale snaps.

“That’s not what I said! I said they wouldn’t look twice at us!”

“I’d say they looked more than twice, Crowley!”

“But see that? They thought we were part of the show! We fit right in!” Crowley leans in for another taste of his angel’s waiting mouth when his head suddenly pops up with an errant thought. “Wait a minute … they only mentioned _you _being hot. What about _me_? Hey, Emily!” Crowley yells down the hall, fighting to be heard above the whine of power tools. “What about …?”

“Sorry, my dear.” Aziraphale grabs Crowley’s chin, tilting his mouth back his way. “Apparently _I’m_ the _hot dad_ in this relationship, and you’re going to have to be okay with that.”

Crowley gives Aziraphale a peculiar look. “I’m pretty sure nothing in that sentence was correct,” he says, loosening Aziraphale’s tie to make it easier to assault his angel’s neck, particularly that sweet spot above his collarbone that he likes to have nibbled, “but I’m going to roll with it.”


End file.
